Apr 10

Hot Blacktop Ch. 10 – Italian

Rustic candles on wooden backgroundSaint drove up to Sienna’s country house and pulled into the drive. He sat staring, thinking for just a moment. He didn’t want to scare her when he went up to the door. Saint wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go, tell her that she would be safe, Danny would be safe. But, he didn’t think she would believe him.

Since the blowup with Danny two days ago, Sienna was the only thing on his mind. When she wouldn’t let him in yesterday, since she’d run away from him, from Danny, he’d panicked. When they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, Sienna’s soul was bleak. Her eyes were a vast ocean of pain, breaking waves cutting into the sand at shore, each slice digging deeper and deeper eroding the shore’s strength.

He closed his eyes and thought of Sienna when she was under him, how she had responded to him, how she had screamed for him in her pleasure. Saint would show her what they could have together, show her a future where he would cherish her heart.

He saw the front curtain move as he got out of his truck. Even if Saint couldn’t convince Sienna, at the moment, of what they were to each other, he knew she wanted him in her life. He took the porch stairs two at a time, and she opened the door before he reached it. A smile came to his face when he saw the skin tight dress she was wearing for him, but then he frowned when what greeted him appeared forced somehow.

“Hi,” Sienna said. She didn’t move so he walked into her personal space, grabbed and lifted her chin as he took her mouth with a gentle brush of his lips.

“Hey, baby.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Sienna said in an abrupt whisper. She tried to pull away, but he pulled her closer.

“You need a distraction, so I’m taking you to dinner, the little Italian place off Main downtown. You promised.”

“Right,” she responded looking away, but he turned her face back to his.

“Mm, hmm.” He kissed her soundly. “Grab your purse.”

They didn’t say much on the ride to the restaurant, but he glanced at her often just to be sure she was okay. Saint kept his hand on her in some way, caressing her hair, drawing a finger down her cheek, or keeping a hand on her leg. Her dress had ridden up when she’d gotten in the truck exposing her legs. It was a difficult thing to keep his need for her in check. He’d almost decided to turn the truck around, take her back to her place, and show her how he could make her feel loved, with his mouth, his hands, and more. He let his eyes wander every few seconds, enjoying the sight of her.

He pulled up to the front of the restaurant all too quickly, got out, helped her down and walked her to the door. “I’ll be right back after I park my truck. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but pull her in for another quick kiss that stirred his blood and made her eyes flare with heat. Her fingers dug into his biceps as he deepened the kiss one second longer. Then he made himself pull away.

“Mmm. That was nice,” Sienna said before Saint watched her eyes shutter. She looked away. He was getting to her, and it flustered her. He smiled to himself.

Once he had the truck parked he returned to Sienna. His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong, her body was stiff and her movements choppy. “Are you alright?”

Sienna whirled around. Saint caught her before she stumbled, grabbed her arms and held her close. Her hand went to his chest.

“You scared me.”

“What’s going on?” Saint wrapped his arm around her and stared into her eyes. She shook her head and didn’t answer.

“I thought I saw someone.” She tried to look away. “Never mind.”

He held her gaze with a finger on her chin. He finally nodded and gave her a little squeeze. “Come on. Let’s have dinner.” He moved her to the small hosting stand. Saint would address her scare later.

“Hey, Taz,” Saint said.

“Hey, Mr. Paulson. This way.”

Taz led them to the patio outside Sienna looked to him. He said, “Taz is an intern at Paulson’s.” He whispered in her ear. “He’s a good kid, starting out on scholarship this year through the local vocational school; a scholarship created in my sister’s name. It’s for kids who’ve overcome addiction.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about his sister tonight.

“Just like you requested,” Taz said.

Sienna lifted an eyebrow when he helped her toward their table. “We have the whole patio to ourselves?” There weren’t any other place settings on the other tables.

The atmosphere was nice. Outdoor heaters staved off the chill brought on by late July in Michigan. He felt the goosebumps on her skin when they first stepped out of the warm restaurant. Nights below forty were more frequent than they had been just a few weeks ago. But, he could tell Sienna hadn’t expected all this. Good, he thought. Candles lit their area, the glow bounced their silhouettes off the stone walls, soft music played in the background, and the mood, he saw, captured her attention. He enjoyed the soft smile on her face as her shoulders relaxed. Taz smiled and set the menus on the table, and Saint pulled out her chair and kissed her neck below her ear. Just his nearness made her breaths come faster. He enjoyed her response more than he thought he could.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” Sienna said, tilting her head when she spoke the words.

“What’s that?” he asked as he sat down opposite her, but still close, intertwining his fingers with hers. Taz stopped back at the table with bread and a bottle of wine he preselected. She tried to pull away, but he held firm. She shook her head. He was determined to make this date special, and he hoped she believed it, believed in him. Saint wasn’t going to leave her.

“You have this habit, Saint, of helping people. A lot. Going out of your way. Don’t you worry people will take advantage?”

“Some people are worth it.” Saint brushed his lips across her knuckles. He watched her eyes widen in surprise and a shiver race across her body. Her eyes went heavy lidded. Saint would make her shiver much more, later.

They ordered another bottle of wine and entrees, and conversation flowed. The food was incredible. It was nice sharing a meal with her, letting her know how it could be. Trusting him, he hoped.

Saint listened to Sienna tell him about her jewelry designs and how Megan had convinced her that together they could make a go of Twisted Metal. Her face lit up and that made him smile. The joy there, and that she shared it with him, was special. She asked about the speedway and his classes. He didn’t bring up how he included Danny in his new class, but skirted around the fact it was him.

“A new kid started with the class today. Or rather, I signed him up myself.” He smiled thinking about the glee on Danny’s face.

“There’s something about this kid that just…” Saint stopped to gather his thought. “He’s intuitive when it comes to motorcycles. It’s like he can see what’s going to happen before it happens. When I showed videos about how to handle the bikes on blacktop, when I stopped the video, asked them questions about what might happen next, he knew the answers. The kids amazing. He reminds me a little of Chris when Chris and I first started riding.”

She frowned. “How old is the rider?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Don’t you need a parent’s consent for him to be in your class?

He laughed and brushed off her concern. “I’ll get permission. Don’t worry. He comes around the track all the time.” Luckily she didn’t ask any more questions.

Throughout dinner, he made sure he touched her in some way, her hand, a brush of his leg against her, or the touch of his fingers on her cheek in a soft caress. He tried everything to make her more aware of him. He even insisted on feeding her dessert. With each bite of the crème brulee, she took, his cock grew harder.

“Mm,” she purred with the last spoonful of sweet custard. “Delicious.” She licked her lips and he almost groaned.

“Check!”

They walked out of the restaurant, he pulled her close and kissed her hard, their bodies aligning, his arousal pressing painfully for more room. He would take her to his bed tonight and show her that he loved her. And he knew it deep in his soul that he would never let her go. Sienna was his forever. Convincing her was the only obstacle.

“I’ll be right back.” He tapped her neck with a soft kiss and took off toward the truck.

Heading back toward the restaurant he saw Sienna stumble. A woman shoved her. Sienna hit the side of the building.

“What the hell!” Saint jumped out, and got to Sienna just as the woman’s fingers dug into Sienna’s skin.

“Mom, stop! You’re hurting me. Stop. Please, stop.” Sienna’s fear was a physical thing all but casting a net around the whole area, he could almost feel it. Saint grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her hard. The movement strong but controlled. He didn’t want to hurt the haggard woman. The old woman turned her glare onto him, Saint saw the dark inset eyes, the anger, the addiction that pulled her flesh tight to her bones, the decay, the holes in her skin. It was all too familiar.

“You have to get it for me, Sienna. I need it!” The woman screeched pointing a finger at her. “You owe me this!”

Sienna took a step toward her mother, to do what he didn’t know. He did know he wouldn’t let this person hurt Sienna. He pulled her back into his body turning her becoming a protective shield.

“You get it for me,” the woman yelled as she backed away. Her eyes looked everywhere and nowhere, her body twitched making her clumsy. “I’ll be waiting. Just like I told you.”

“Mom.” Sienna struggled in his arms to go after the woman.

“Mom?” Saint’s heart broke as she tried to move from his arms still.

When the woman was out of sight, Sienna crumbled. He lifted her and set her in the passenger seat, got himself in and pulled off the curb. “Your mother?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice so small he barely heard her.

“How long has she been addicted to drugs?”

“Since I…since, I was a kid.” The tears came now. “But she never tried to hurt me before.” He took her hand and didn’t let go. Her voice droned on now. “I’d see her with prescription bottles.” She paused. “She hurt herself at work. I don’t know exactly how, but it was bad. She needed the pills she said.” Wiping her eyes, she continued. “I noticed the orange bottles more and more. That’s when I started to go to Megan’s more. She’d started to blame me for everything. Dad started to…he started to hit her more.” She sucked in a breath, and it wavered as she let it out. “When she started not to come home sometimes, he blamed me like she blamed me for all their problems.” Saint gripped her hand harder and thought he knew where this was going. “When he didn’t have an outlet with my mother that’s when he started in on me. And then she didn’t come home at all.”

“Jesus.”

“She left me with him. I haven’t seen her until tonight.”

Sienna looked up at him and looked around. They had reached Paulson’s a few minutes ago, and hadn’t noticed. He got out and once again helped her out of the truck and took her up to the loft. He moved her with ease, drew her down on the sofa and onto his lap. And let his head fall against her neck snuggling where he knew she liked it best.

“What, what are you doing?” she asked him.

“I’m taking care of you.”

“But why? Why would you want to be with me after seeing what I came from? She didn’t think I was worth anything, why should you?”

Saint twisted her around, so she faced him. He didn’t give her time to pull away. Her dress inched upward and he pulled her in flush to his growing arousal. He kissed behind her ear, stroked her hair, wrapped it around his fingers drawing her head back to get better access to the bare skin near her collarbone. He bit her gently and then replaced his teeth with his tongue, to ease the sting. She whimpered.

“Why?” He kissed her quick and hard. Her eyes opened when he pulled gently on her hair, and she stared at him. “Because,” he said. “I love you.”

“No.” she gasped. “No,” she said again. “I’m not worth it.”

“You so are,” he said and dove back in to show her just how much he meant what he said.

Apr 08

Little Free Libraries Deliver the Goods

LFL1bblue LFLExpectations hinge on a hint of plot—a clever title, an eye-catching cover design or the hook of a story’s first sentence. I recently found three Little Free Libraries (LFL) with clear messages to prospective readers. Although my LFL discovery from last month, Twisted by Jeffery Deaver, makes me suspicious of every motive and surprise plot twist, Deaver delivers suspense from the beginning to the end. Today, however, everything is exactly as it appears.

Little Free Library #1 – Young  and Wild

After a brisk walk, I find LFL #1 in a small green space. In the spirit of modern art, this LFL’s exterior captures the human experience of bold strikes against nature. Artwork like this requires considerable skill to accomplish the appearance of such complete randomness. The book collection tumbles from the shelves. The library’s selection aims for a younger audience.

What’s this? Eric Carle? Pancakes?LFLc I’ve never read this book. I flip through the pages. It’s Carle collage magic. I want to read it, enjoy the hand-painted paper and deceptively clever plot. Should I take it? Instead of depriving a child of Carle’s artwork, I put the book back and find Czech Cookery. I love quirky cookbooks. I search the index for Kolaches. I’m converting to gluten free when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Did I mention I recruited my spouse to come along? He asks if I really want to find all the LFLs in less than one hour. I put the cookbook back, and we walk south for the long stretch to LFL #2.

The spouse is much better with time management, but he’s a magnet for ladies asking for directions. And as with most of our walks, a car with somebody’s mother pulls along side us when I’m in my aerobic pathway. Directions to Detroit? That will take at least ten minutes to explain. No, no, don’t pull out the phone. Not the GPS. I’m jogging in place when he gives me the “chill out” look that both my sons’ inherited. I fidget through his five minutes of instructions and inform him that we will have to walk faster and maybe have to cut through the horse carriage racing track, dodge horse trailers and off-track gamblers rushing to place the big bet of the day. The spouse holds a hand skyward. I feel it too—the occasional drop of rain.

20151213_154704Little Free Library #2 – Whimsical, Worldly and Wise

This LFL is in a parking lot beside the Chamber of Commerce and next to rarely traveled railroad tracks. Despite the setting, the box exudes a magical aura like the tickling of glass or the floating of a hovering hummingbird drawn to a flower. I’m attracted to this box and take a moment to organize the contents. I line up my final two choices of literary fiction, Graham Greene and Richard Brautigan. “Revenge of the Lawn” gets my vote. I tuck the paperback in my jacket to protect it from the rain.LFL2b

We walk west again and curve northward past the historical gristmill turned fitness club. I am a few steps toward the historical village, when I discover a Starbuck’s tractor beam latched on to the spouse luring him in the opposite direction. He says we don’t have time for the last box. It’s raining. He suggests we get a coffee instead. It’s a quest. We must go.

Little Free Library #3 – Meticulous and Meaningful

The last LFL is a tribute to Americana, little red schoolhouses, and all things learned and studious. The library is in a small park in a neighborhood nicknamed “cabbage patch” with playground equipment and benches. You can’t see it in the photo, but a steady rain falls on the fire-engine red sides with precision painted shingles and picket fence. This LFL replicates everything fiery about reading and learning. I find inside my fire, Flash Boys, by Michael Lewis, the book written by the same author as The Big Short. I take it. The spouse sighs and ambles to the new brew pub near Main.

LFL3My quest highlights the collaborative result of the Rotary Club, the Art House and the Public Library to place kitschy Little Free Libraries in the public and encourage reading. I have a bag of books sorted to go to each library for the appropriate audience. If you have a Little Free Library in your life, please feel free to share the art and contents of your box.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apr 06

Happy Anniversary, M & M’s®

mmm
There was complete silence in my classroom. All eyes were on me. The look of disappointment on the faces of the students was heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry, children,” I said. “The principal is in charge.”

The week before a planned party, our principal made an unexpected announcement over the PA system. “There will be no Christmas parties allowed in the classrooms. Every day is to be used for academics only. No exceptions.”

As a teacher, I had promised my adorable, well-behaved students a Christmas party. The children decided who would bring the treats, paper plates, cups, napkins, and pop and I promised to bring a treat for everyone.

To distract the students from the principal’s disappointing announcement, I prepared a week of activity-driven lessons on probability. The first lesson was predicting the probability of getting heads when tossing a coin 200 times. The other lessons included tossing two die and using a spinner, but my favorite lesson was the last one.

Reading about the 75th anniversary of M & M’s® this month reminded me of that day as well as other times with that tasty, colorful, popular chocolate treat. As a child, I chose that as my favorite candy. As a teacher, I used M & M’s® to help children with their colors. And passing out M & M’s® at Halloween never gets old.

On the last day of school before the holidays, I distributed a napkin and a sheet of paper to each student. I then posed three questions to the students. “Approximately how many pieces of candy are in this bag of M & M’s®?” I said as I held up a two-ounce bag. “Put your guesses at the top of the paper next to your name.”

“What are the colors in a bag of M & M’s®? Write your answers on the paper, one color per line.”

“How many of each color do you think are in the bag? Put your guesses next to the color you selected.”

Once students completed their choices, I passed out a bag of M & M’s® to each student and said, “Please open your bags, put the candy on your napkins, and count out the M & M’s® by color to see how close you came to your guesses. Write the actual count next to each guess.”

They enthusiastically worked on their assignment. Upon completion, one of the students said, “Teacher, now what do we do with the candy?”Before I could respond, one of the boys said, “Eat’em. Teacher’s giving us a party.”

Before I could respond, one of the boys said, “Eat’em. Teacher’s giving us a party.”

I collected the empty candy bags to confirm that I didn’t want the candy back. The students’ happy smiles were well worth my effort.

 

 

 

Apr 01

Editor’s Log – April 2016 for Deadwood Writers

From the Chicago Botanic Garden’s Website www.chicagobotanic.org

With April comes Spring–a time of renewal and rebirth. It’s a time to seek inspiration and reflect on our past actions that may determine our future. Spring is an exciting time to try new paths along life’s journey. Many of the publications this month deal with choices and trying new experiences. Here is a sneak preview of what is to come this month. Come back to revisit these stories and be inspired to comment about your own.

  • Barbara Pattee’s Happy Anniversary, M & M’s®
    April 6
    This heart warming story shows that sterile rules can be followed and still show compassion for what children care about.
  • Karen Kittrell’s Little Free Libraries Deliver the Goods
    April 8
    Karen takes us on a journey of 3 must visit libraries. It’s amazing the character and personality that each library has. After reading about her experiences, I want to visit them myself.
  • Claire Murray’s Istanbul Passage: A Novel
    April 21
    “What makes this story so interesting is that the author, Joseph Kanon, makes Istanbul, the city, a character in his story. He’s constantly describing the neighborhoods, the streets, the mosques, the bazar and best of all the boats that go back and forth between the European and Asian sides.”
  • Sue Remi’s River Crossing
    April 24
    This Flash Fiction focuses on 18 year old girl, Jilly. What do we do when given a warning? What should determine if we listen?

Mar 18

Coffee Shop Chronicles: The Virtues of Public Transportation

FullSizeRender (1)Espresso Royale

Ann Arbor, MI

“The niche is all yours,” the tall, lanky guy says, referring to this cluster of soft chairs he’s getting up from.

“I don’t need all this space.  I like to be self-contained,” I say with a thank-you nod as I put my bag on one table.  Then I smile at him.  “Besides, this is the only clean table.”

It’s true that I like to have room enough to spread out, but not so much as to intrude on others’ space.  Not so much the case for the previous coffee shop patrons.  There’s a candy wrapper on one table.  This coffee shop doesn’t even sell candy.  There’s a coat on another chair as a placeholder, a reserved sign made of fabric.

“That’s trusting,” I say to the guy, pointing to a woman’s purse hanging on the back of an empty chair.

“Anyone could walk off with that,” he says.

Ann Arbor is a walking town.  Most stores are close enough to each other that walking from your apartment to a restaurant and then the small, specialty grocery store before returning home is easier than driving.  A bus passes outside on State Street.  Even in the rain, public transportation is the better option.

“Yeah, or hop on a bus,” I say.

Growing up in the city limits of Pittsburgh, PA, public transportation was plentiful, much like Ann Arbor and its surrounding neighborhoods.  Pittsburgh is a bigger city, of course, much bigger, and we used it all the time after our family car died.  I remember Dad coming home after work with an armful of bus schedules.  He plopped himself on the floor in the middle of the living room, spread out the maps and began to figure out how the heck you traveled to downtown from our house.

Fortunately, we lived on a bus route.  It was a good bus route, one of the main ones, not far from a depot garage.  Buses had a frequent schedule in my neighborhood, even on Sundays.

A light rail system was constructed when I started high school.  That was my first exposure to “subways,” a misnomer I always thought because the T ran underground for only three stops.  It was an above-ground transportation outside downtown proper.

“My friend’s dad could read the entire New York Times in a tight space on the subway,” he says.

I’m impressed.  I could never stand and read on a bus.  My survival skills in tight spaces came from sitting down.  Maybe this is why I can be self-contained sitting down in a coffee shop.

Riders learn to multitask early.  You eat a sandwich in your seat without spilling any on the passenger next to you; the tantalizing smell throughout the bus was out of your control.  You sleep with your head against the window and intuitive feel when it’s time to wake up to get off at your stop.  You learn how to place paper grocery store bags on the floor so that passengers won’t step on or trip over them.

I did develop strong legs and a sense of balance to stand upright and not tip over as the bus bounced and jerked and turned corners.  You learned to politely shove your way through a smash of people to exit at your stop.  You talked with the people you saw every day, creatures of habit you all were, work and school schedules always the same.  You gave up your seat for people with packages, women with children, and the gentle older folks.

This guy must be a rider of sorts because he continues to discuss public systems.  He says the John P. Getty Museum in Los Angeles is located at the top of a mountain.  The area has a great system in its three-car train that goes up the mountain.  The ride is smooth and the flow of traffic is easy.

This reminds me of the Duquesne and Monongahela Inclines in Pittsburgh.  It’s a unique experience to be pulled up a mountain.  I guess it’s like what a ski lift is like, except the inclines are big boxes that hold about 50 people.  They’re fun to ride, especially when seasoned riders scare the first-timers by saying, “Oh, I hope this doesn’t fall and plummet down.”

I smile and nod with the guy, saying. “The lessons you learn on public transportation will help you through your lifetime.”